KING.Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's deathThe memory be green, and that it us befittedTo bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdomTo be contracted in one brow of woe;Yet so far hath discretion fought with natureThat we with wisest sorrow think on him,Together with remembrance of ourselves.Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen,Th' imperial jointress to this warlike state,Have we, as 'twere with a defeated joy, — With an auspicious and one dropping eye,With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage,In equal scale weighing delight and dole, — Taken to wife; nor have we herein barr'dYour better wisdoms, which have freely goneWith this affair along: — or all, our thanks.Now follows, that you know, young Fortinbras,Holding a weak supposal of our worth,Or thinking by our late dear brother's deathOur state to be disjoint and out of frame,Colleagued with this dream of his advantage,He hath not fail'd to pester us with message,Importing the surrender of those landsLost by his father, with all bonds of law,To our most valiant brother. So much for him, — Now for ourself and for this time of meeting:Thus much the business is: — we have here writTo Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras, — Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hearsOf this his nephew's purpose, — to suppressHis further gait herein; in that the levies,The lists, and full proportions are all madeOut of his subject: — and we here dispatchYou, good Cornelius, and you, Voltimand,For bearers of this greeting to old Norway;Giving to you no further personal powerTo business with the king, more than the scopeOf these dilated articles allow.Farewell; and let your haste commend your duty.

CORNELIUS and VOLTIMAND.In that and all things will we show our duty.

KING.We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell.

[Exeunt Voltimand and Cornelius.]

And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?You told us of some suit; what is't, Laertes?You cannot speak of reason to the Dane,And lose your voice: what wouldst thou beg, Laertes,That shall not be my offer, not thy asking?The head is not more native to the heart,The hand more instrumental to the mouth,Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father.What wouldst thou have, Laertes?

LAERTES.Dread my lord,Your leave and favour to return to France;From whence though willingly I came to Denmark,To show my duty in your coronation;Yet now, I must confess, that duty done,My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France,And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon.